Dear God,
I know you do a lot. They say you hold the atmosphere together with your hands and command the sun to rise each morning. You know what I’d trade for all of that? Knowing without a doubt that you care. Drop the atmosphere and hold me.
Me
*
Dear God,
Why did you make spiders? Were you mad? Did you think they were cute with all those legs? I respect you, but I don’t think spiders were your best work. Unless you wanted us to live in fear, in which case, I say, “Mission accomplished.”
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
This broken, bloody world, my broken, bloody life. Is this your masterpiece? Are our tears and bones your mediums? How can I pretend you care about me in a world where innocents suffer? How can I pretend to matter? You don’t know how badly I crave your attention, or maybe you do. I hate it here.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
Why can’t butter be healthy? Are mushrooms really even food? Why didn’t you make seedless pomegranates? You know we’d love that. It’s like a puzzle. Isn’t life hard enough? Why is the mango seed so big? Like, really big? It easily takes up half the mango. Is there a lesson in that?
Like, for every mango in life, is there a big seed? Sorry, I’m hungry.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
I decided not to believe in you. I was upset. Devastated, actually. Tired of feeling like I’m speaking into empty air. But that’s not true. I can feel you almost all the time. I was tired of being in pain. You could have rescued me if you wanted to, but you didn’t. That made me so sad. And angry. So I renounced you in my soul and turned my back. For three solid hours.
Did you miss me? I’m still kind of mad.
Me
*
Dear God,
Thank you for
good hugs
cups of tea
bonfires
the sound of rain
the kind of laughter that only gets more intense when you
try to stop
brick walls
good graffiti
strangers with kind eyes
strangers who don’t look at you when you’re crying in public quiet, deep people
loud, animated people
responsible people
messy people (Hi)
my bed
untouched snow
hoodies
buttered popcorn
crisp apples
iced coffee
fresh doughnuts
socks of all kinds
olive oil
distressed wood
blankets
Me
*
Dear God,
Assuming I get to heaven, I don’t want neighbors.
Me
*
Dear God,
Forgiving someone who isn’t sorry feels like washing a car that isn’t mine. Why should I do it? Because you forgive me over and over? You’re literally God though. I’m a trash human. Please help me forgive. If only because the anger is slowly but surely choking me.
Me
*
Dear God,
Why do you hide? Is it because you want me to seek? I’m tired. And lost. And tired. Come out.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
Caterpillars are gross. Butterflies are beautiful. I see what you did there.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
You saved me. You’ve saved me more than once, and I don’t know why. I go back and forth between gratitude and sadness. The pain could’ve been over, but it would have just begun — like the worst baton pass of all time — for the ones I love the most. So I’m here. Why me? There have been so many others you didn’t save, whose souls you didn’t give another chance, so why me?
A blanket of thankfulness and nothingness is draped over me. Nothing feels right. You brought me back, but where are you? I’m alone.
Me
*
Dear God,
I can feel your compassion surrounding me. In these moments when I feel your gentle eye on me, I know you’re my father, and I’m not afraid. Stay.
Me
Excerpted from Dear God by Bunmi Laditan, copyright Bunmi Laditan.
These prayers are so honest and simple. Sometimes, we make prayer too complicated. We don’t say what we mean, we try to keep secrets from God as if that’s possible. He already knows, so just talk to Him.
Pastor Dale